


11 - The Bridge Forward

by distantstarlight



Series: 31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 31 Days of Porn Challenge 2017, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Day 11, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forgiveness, I made myself cry once, Love, M/M, Misery, Penitent John, Regret, taking care, wounded sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 17:54:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10881951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: John Watson has done a lot of things in his life that he isn't proud of but hurting Sherlock Holmes is one of the worst.





	11 - The Bridge Forward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ruxicassiopeia (vionavasthi)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vionavasthi/gifts).



> I finished writing this five minutes ago and began it after an early morning conversation with a friend about the very serious topic of forgiveness.

First came healing of the body. That part was simple, pain meds, bandages, regular check-ups. John was good at that. He was a professional. Second came healing of their friendship. That part was not simple. John learned so much in the last while, how the man he’d once considered his best friend had sacrificed his body, his career, his health, and on more than one occasion, had nearly lost his life…for him.

Shame made John cold inside. _He_ _’d beaten Sherlock_. He couldn’t call it anything else. John had struck Sherlock willingly and then had poured out years’ worth of frustration, anger, misery, and grief, using Sherlock as a punching bag, a kicking bag, an undeserving repository for everything black and tarnished inside John Watson’s heart.

He hated himself.

Sherlock was blank. He quietly accepted John’s ministrations. He stood perfectly still when being bandaged. He answered every question put to him. He followed his doctor’s orders and remained quiet. It was horrible. Sherlock never made eye-contact, seeing just behind John’s head instead, his focus always on something else, even though he listened carefully to what he was being told. He didn’t argue with John. He wasn’t testy or difficult or anything at all. The worst part, the thing that made John want to howl in despair because he was the cause, was the flinching.

If John brought Sherlock tea, Sherlock would automatically increase the distance between them. Gone were casual touches, the welcoming camaraderie, and comfort of home. Sherlock was no longer a whirling dervish of mental over-stimulation. If he worked on cases for his brother or Lestrade, he stayed silent, making neat notes on paper, sliding them into the files and returning them himself instead of texting endlessly or going to the scenes. He never asked John to accompany him, not anymore.

Sherlock wasn’t like that with the others, not even Molly Hooper. John had witnessed the long embrace between the two, how Molly had wiped away Sherlock’s tears just as Sherlock had wiped away hers, and their long friendship continued unchanged. Lestrade waited only long enough for Sherlock to be mobile before he was bringing him in for work. They groused and snipped at each other, and it was like nothing had changed. Mrs Hudson visited with Sherlock endlessly, that is, unless John was at the flat, and then she would retreat to her rooms while John tended Sherlock in almost total silence.

It was different when Rosie was there. Sherlock came to life and John could see that the detective genuinely cared for his tiny daughter. Sherlock’s laugh was unfettered and open, his eyes bright and shining as he referred to John as Daddy, cuddling and kissing Rosie easily and naturally. If she wasn’t there, Sherlock retreated into his shell once more, almost lifeless, silent, and unmoved.

John wanted to tear himself apart for destroying his friendship. He’d done this, he’d hurt Sherlock horribly, not just his body which honestly, Sherlock hardly cared about, but in a place where Sherlock had no defence, his heart. John knew he was important to Sherlock or had been. Even after everything, Sherlock had chosen John over everyone else, Mycroft included. John couldn’t say the same of himself. _He_ _’_ _d chosen Mary, hadn_ _’_ _t he, brazenly going back to her even after she_ _’_ _d shot Sherlock_.

It made John ill, it really did. _How had he come so low? How had he fallen so far and left himself behind?_ His hand shook with regrets but he didn’t stop making tea, getting ingredients for breakfast ready, and folding up laundry. When he used pill organisers to sort out Sherlock’s regime of medication, John’s hand was rock-steady but otherwise, he couldn’t deny that his psychosomatic problems had made a return.

John had found an old classmate who owned a chemist’s shop; between the two of them John plotted out a course back to health for Sherlock that would help him the most and harm him the least. Sherlock needed gentle handling and would for a very long while. The physical stress he’d been under for the last few years had turned Sherlock’s body into a mobile problem. John Watson was determined to eradicate or manage each and every one of them, promising himself that he’d never stop until Sherlock was the healthiest he’d ever been.

John researched nutrition and dietary requirements, brushing up on what he already knew and looking into the latest research and opinion pieces. He combined what he learned with what he knew about Sherlock’s tastes and preferences, crafting him a meal plan that would encourage his body to continue healing and reduce the demand placed on his transport to mend itself. Sherlock’s vacation in the land of street grade drugs had done him no good, especially when matched with years worth of physical problems he’d earned via torture and rough living. John spent every minute he could spare looking into ways to help Sherlock get better.

Sherlock suffered from an accrual of things but he didn’t complain anymore. He never asked for pain relievers or let John know he was in any kind of discomfort unless he was asked. Most often it was Mrs Hudson who slipped John a quiet word about muscles that ached for too long or bones that felt like they weren’t aligned properly. She was good at winkling information out of Sherlock and it made John sadder still to know that Sherlock no longer felt able to talk directly to him, not even for medical care.

John thought about it. It was clear that Sherlock was no longer at ease around him. Perhaps being Sherlock’s doctor wasn’t the best idea. Steeling himself to be replaced by some other physician, John approached the issue head-on, “I’ve done the shopping. You’ve got meals enough to last for a full week and Mrs Hudson has supplies laid away for more.” He was looking down at his knees as he sat in his old chair. Sherlock was lying on the sofa, his ribs still too sore for him to remain in any one position for long. “I realised that I’m making you…that…maybe you would prefer someone else to help you with this.” John mutely indicated the med bag that held bandages, Sherlock’s pills, and all the tools John normally used to keep them mended. “I’m sorry, Sherlock, sorrier than I can ever tell you. I’m going to go get Rosie now. If there’s anything else I can do, you know you just need to ask, I’ll do it.”

John stood up and walked away, leaving Sherlock silence behind. His eyes stung a bit but he knew he’d made the right choice. He stopped by to say farewell to Mrs Hudson, explaining to her about the food he’d filled her pantry and freezer with, how he’d sorted out three weeks worth of medication for Sherlock, and how Mycroft would likely be sending a doctor around to finish helping Sherlock. Mrs Hudson was nearly as silent as Sherlock as John finished speaking. Her eyes were watery and she said, “Don’t leave him, John. You’re the only thing he’s got left. He needs you so desperately.”

John wanted to cry. “He’s afraid of me now. He can’t bear it when I’m close. He won’t speak to me anymore, not about anything. He’s completely closed himself off to me. I’m making it worse by being here. I didn’t even ask if he wanted me to be his doctor, I just assumed.” John’s hand trembled and he closed it into a fist. It reminded him of why Sherlock was afraid of him and he unclenched in horror. “I can’t do that to him. I can’t let him feel fear in his own home. It’s best if I leave.”

“John,” Mrs Hudson put her hand on his forearm, “It’s not fear, John, not that kind of fear, anyway. You and I both know Sherlock doesn’t understand how to process his feelings. They get trapped inside him and when he’s stuck like that he just…”

“Shuts down.” John stood there, letting Mrs Hudson’s hand remain on his arm while he thought. “I don’t want to hurt him. I’ve done that so much already. I just want him to be happy.”

“He needs you, John. Go to him. Don’t leave him alone again. He hates being by himself.” She looked anxious, “He sleeps down here most nights, did you know that? He’s afraid of being in the dark. He’s afraid no one will come for him. He’s afraid someone will take him back to wherever he was…John. Go to him.”

John nearly ran up the stairs. Sherlock was still on the sofa but now his eyes were red. Sherlock had been crying! “I’m here.” John didn’t hesitate. He went directly over to the sofa and helped Sherlock sit, “I’m here and I won’t go if you want me to stay.”

Sherlock’s arms were so thin. He’d been strong and fit for a while but the series of injuries and the drugs had melted the flesh from his bones, leaving him gaunt and too slender once more. “John.” John held Sherlock as tightly as he dared, “I knew today would come. I knew you’d leave again, and this time it would be forever. I couldn’t stand the thought. I thought I could learn how to get used to not being your friend but I couldn’t.”

John found himself smoothing Sherlock’s hair back from his forehead so he could kiss it gently, “I’m always going to be your friend Sherlock. Things have been a right mess for a long time, we can’t lie about that.” Sherlock nodded and sniffled into John’s shirt, “I need to know what you really want from me, Sherlock. The truth, even if you think I don’t want to hear it.”

“Will you tell me the same, John?” Sherlock lifted his head to look into John’s eyes, “Do you promise to tell me exactly what you want.”

“You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine, promise.” John released a shaky breath. There were a lot of things he’d kept from Sherlock and even from himself. He’d been moments away from leaving Sherlock completely, he had nothing left to lose. “I promise, Sherlock. Full disclosure.”

Sherlock’s mouth quirked into a smile but tears still hung heavy in his lashes. “I’m in love with you, John Watson. I pretended to die so I could protect you but when I came back you’d found someone you told me you loved. You asked me to be your best man. I told you and everyone you knew that I loved you. You hugged me and then we found out Mary was pregnant. I’d told you everything, given you everything, and I’d lost you anyway, I never had you at all. The whole while I was away I used to dream of being with you. I heard your voice in my mind, you helped me figure out how to escape, how to survive. You teased me and joked with me and kept me going when it was nearly impossible to put one foot in front of the other. Now the real you wants to leave and let some other doctor look after me and it hurts all over again.”

Tears slipped down Sherlock’s cheeks but he made no sound nor did he try to wipe them away. John’s hand was steady as he raised it and brushed them off Sherlock’s cheeks, “I didn’t want to leave. I thought you were afraid of me. I can’t forgive myself for how I’ve treated you because I’ve loved you right from the day we met, and I can’t see how you can forgive me either. I’ve destroyed us, Sherlock. I’ve wrecked everything by being stupid and stubborn and…”

John’s words were cut off when Sherlock lunged up to cover John’s mouth with his own. John’s mind shut down completely. It felt heavenly. Sherlock’s mouth was tender and gentle. He was warm and uncertain but John didn’t pull away. Instead, he let his eyes close, relaxing into it, and kissed Sherlock back. “Can we start from here, John? I want to be with you. Could you ever be with…”

“Yes!” John kissed Sherlock hard before pressing their foreheads together. “I’d never forgive me if I were you. I’d never forget how much I ignored all your sacrifices and then hurt you! How?”

Sherlock pressed a kiss to John’s cheek and drew back, “It’s not a matter of forgiveness, John. I love you, full stop. I don’t think I’ll ever not love you, I can’t help it, the feeling is just there and it never goes away. I think that in our case, forgiving ourselves is more the issue. I left you entirely alone and unsupported for over two years. Everyone around you knew I wasn’t dead but you truly believed. I hurt you in ways that are still there yet you love me?”

“I do. You’re right, I do.” John felt his own tears beginning to gather. “It's only now, looking back, that I can see it clearly. It’s always been you. Mary Morstan wasn’t real. She was a hand puppet. She played a role pretending to be my wife and the only thing true about her was that she gave birth to Rosie. Everything else was a sham, a job, even our marriage. I was her trophy husband, the one she’d stolen from you.”

There was a pointed silence, “You’d have married a man?”

“I’d have married you if I’d known how you really felt, if I’d been able to properly understand the gifts you’d given me. Sherlock, my very life, you gave me my very life and I didn’t appreciate it. You gave up everything for those you cared about and I made you hurt as payback. I don’t want to move forward if you think that I’m just doing this to make up with you and gloss over what I’ve done. I don’t deserve you but I want to try and earn my way back to you, to be someone you know you can be proud of and who you can rely on.”

“You’re already that, John Watson.” Sherlock caressed John’s face, a bit of wonder in his eyes, “I will take anything you give me John, even if it's just hope.”

Sherlock led John to his bedroom. Once there they lay down together, both still fully dressed. Sherlock drew his duvet over both of them and without speaking they just shut their eyes and held one another. John wasn’t sure how long he stayed there with Sherlock sheltered in his arms but the silence wasn’t sad and filled with regret. It was simple and soothing. He fell asleep a long time later, his fingers carding through Sherlock’s hair.

The next day, John collected his daughter up from Molly, explaining that he was moving back to Baker Street. The relief on her face wasn’t subtle, “I’m happy for you both.” She seemed sincere. Molly had been a real friend to them both and unfairly targeted in order to make them both suffer. She was strong in ways no one knew and had survived the chaos, coming out the other side with more self-confidence and wiser eyes than before. “He’s been alone for so long.”

John knew Molly was referring to Sherlock’s whole life and it made his heart hurt all over again as he understood how rare his companionship was to Sherlock, and how hard it must have been for the taller man to even make a friend, let alone falling in love with someone. “He won’t be anymore.” He told her and the smile in her eyes let him know that she believed him. Heartened, he went back to Baker Street with his daughter.

John discovered that there was a large group of people who wanted a piece of Rosie’s time. Mrs Hudson was first in line but oddly enough, Mycroft was jockeying for position, and even weirder, Gregory Lestrade. “Babies are wonderful John.” Lestrade’s grin was huge, “Always wanted a whole pack of devils of my own.”

“I’m sorry, Gregory.” Mycroft was looking at the DI, “Perhaps you’ll meet someone who can give you that.”

“Nah,” John bit his lip as he watched Greg give Mycroft a very unsubtle wink, “I’m divorced now.” He went right up to Mycroft, “So, Sherlock tells me you have a thing for goldfish. Ever think about collecting?”

John laughed as Mycroft spit his tea out, spraying all over Lestrade’s work coat. “Charming.” Sherlock eyed them both, “Very romantic get together story. I suggest you get together so that you can tell it to people.”

Mycroft was blushing and John almost couldn’t believe his eyes. Lestrade laughed easily but didn’t comment further, “C’mon, Sherlock, give us the baby. I just want to go to the zoo, show her the animals.”

John handed his excited daughter over, “Just don’t take her to the Yard.”

“Yeah, Sherlock will be angry if he doesn’t get to be the one who does that.” Lestrade was tickling Rosie’s belly, “Come on Myc, I’ll let you romance me with coffee and whatever the street vendors are selling in the park.”

John watched Mycroft take Rosie’s diaper bag without a word and follow the DI to the street. He shook his head and wondered at the way his life had changed yet again. He turned and found Sherlock watching him, the expression on his face strangely tender and relaxed. “They’ll be gone all afternoon. I packed bottles for her.”

“Ta.” John felt awkward all of a sudden but he didn’t want to waste this precious opportunity. “What do you feel like doing?”

Sherlock gave John a long studying look, “John, would you like to have sex with me?”

Now John was the one spitting up, “That was kind of out of the blue.”

Sherlock shrugged, “We won’t have many intimate opportunities. It’s not like we’re getting to know one another. We live together, again. Was I supposed to wait? I’m not sure how these sorts of things are negotiated.”

John shook his head and smiled over, “We don’t need to negotiate, I just kind of thought we’d ease into things but yeah, I’d like to have sex with you. Just tell me when, where, and how you like it. I’m there.”

Sherlock was almost laughing now because John was waggling his eyebrows in a ridiculous manner, “You are so odd, John Watson.”

“Well, as long as you know,” John said. He felt comfortable joking around with Sherlock. This felt more like old times, and he knew it was the beginning of new ones. “Let me take you to bed, show off a little.”

“I have to admit, I’ve been curious.” Sherlock looked intrigued. John had thought he might be shy or hesitant, but no, Sherlock was anything but. Now that they’d clear the air between them he was back to being who he normally was. Sherlock took John’s hand and gave him a serious look, “I’m not a virgin, despite the rumours. I understand sex very well. I don’t generally indulge but I did when I was younger. I’ve never been in anything like a relationship with someone. Most of my partners were ones of convenience, we got off with each other and went our separate ways.”

“So no old boyfriends coming around to see you?” John just stepped closer. He was a little surprised that Sherlock had a past like that but he could hardly say anything. His personal experiences were numerous and in most cases, exactly as Sherlock described, convenient but not committed. “Can’t say I’m unhappy about that.”

“I hope all your old girlfriends pop by. I’d enjoy that immensely.” Sherlock swooped in and gave John a searing kiss that made his toes curl in a way he’d read about but never actually experienced. “Once I’m done with you, John Watson, you’ll never be able to think of someone else in bed with you.”

“I’m already there.” John’s head was spinning. Everything felt like it was going too fast but then again, it had been years in the making, why waste a second more, “What do you like the most?”

“I want to penetrate you.” Sherlock said bluntly, “I want to prepare you, lay you out on my bed, and fuck you so hard that the headboard breaks the wall.”

“You don’t have a headboard.”

“I’ll figure something out. We have a lot of aggression to expunge. Come on John, let’s fuck.”

“Animal.”

“Human beings are animals, John, now get undressed and get on your hands and knees.” It didn’t exactly go like that. Instead of allowing John to undress, Sherlock took his time removing one article of clothing after another, kissing John’s skin, tasting him all over. When they were both nude, Sherlock lay them down on their bed and stroked John’s body everywhere. It was languid yet intense and John found that he wasn’t having any trouble at all bottoming. Sherlock had a large container of lube by his bed and extremely long fingers. When John was ready enough, Sherlock pushed his condom covered cock in slowly, watching John’s reactions carefully.

John had never had sex with such intensity. It wasn’t fast. Sherlock was examining John’s responses, learning how to pleasure him, and pleasure him he did. John wasn’t a passive partner. He participated just as much, his hands wandering all over Sherlock, leading his lips and mouth on their own adventure. When Sherlock had his fingers inside John, John had Sherlock’s cock deep in his mouth. He was proud of how Sherlock’s breath caught, and how his whole body shook as John sucked. John loved Sherlock’s cock. It was long, slender, and had a flared head. When Sherlock put it inside John’s arse, that flare made John very happy indeed.

“God, I can’t wait to fuck you.” John groaned. It felt bloody amazing! He wanted Sherlock to feel this way. To his surprise, Sherlock grunted in surprise, his hips suddenly losing their sinuous grind and becoming quick deep thrusts. A light flicked on inside his mind, “You want that. You want me to fuck you.”

“Oh god, John.” Sherlock lay on John’s back, one arm around John’s chest to keep him in place, his cock thrusting faster now.

John closed his eyes and enjoyed it. Sherlock was close, “Go on, love, come inside me. I want to feel you come in me”

“John! Shit!” Sherlock’s curse was accompanied by a bite to John’s good shoulder. Sherlock was trembling, his breath ragged and desperate sounding, “Please, my darling, I’m going to come, oh god John, I’m going to come. Oh!” Sherlock’s body bowed above John as he braced himself on his hands, his body rigid as he slammed down roughly. Sherlock gripped John’s hips now, yanking John harder and faster as his hips went faster than ever, “John, John, John, John! _Uh!_ ”

Sherlock convulsed on top of him and John could feel his orgasm as if it were his own. It was intensely pleasurable to have Sherlock’s cock inside him, the throbbing heaviness of it letting him know he was close, “Don’t pull out.” Sherlock moaned wearily in response but John didn’t care. Sherlock wasn’t moving and that was the important part.

John managed to reach beneath himself to fist his cock while Sherlock was still buried in him. His strokes were fast, rough, and exactly what he needed. Sherlock managed to press harder into him and to rock his hips gently. It was enough. John’s testicles were drawn up tight and with a grunt of his own, John began to come. He clenched and unclenched around Sherlock’s cock with each pulse, and it made them both groan even more. It was so intense that John nearly pulled way to finish off with just his hand but then he collapsed, completely undone by pleasure.

A long time later Sherlock managed to roll away. They lay there sweating and catching their breath. When Sherlock recovered enough, he said, “Tonight. Rosie is asleep no later than nine. We’re coming back here and you are going to put your lovely fat cock deep into me. Plan?”

“Plan.” John agreed amiably. It was a good plan too, one that bore repeating many many times.

“We can get married next month, I’ll have Mycroft arrange it.”

“Okay.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“I love you, Sherlock Holmes, and I want to be with you for the rest of our lives. Yes, getting married in a month is perfectly fine, and yes, I will fuck you so hard tonight that you won’t be able to walk tomorrow. It’s a deal.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“I love you too.”

“I know.”

John smiled as Sherlock cuddled up, tender and affectionate, so different than the way he’d been for the last while. John’s heart was full and happy, and as he lay there, he began to make plans. He knew Sherlock Holmes better than anyone in the world and his whole goal was to make Sherlock’s life as good as it could be. As he drifted off for a short nap, John began making a list of medical and lab equipment that might be considered appropriate love gifts for a mad scientist. He’d woo Sherlock in every way he could think of and he’d never stop, not even after their dreadful past was nothing more than a fleeting memory. Smiling, he fell asleep listening to the sounds of Sherlock’s snores, dreams of their mutual future filling his mind with colours and happiness.


End file.
